


if love is something you can touch

by omoiyaris



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Cohabitation, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Vibing, just a vampire and his ghost buddy hanging out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omoiyaris/pseuds/omoiyaris
Summary: He doesn’t tell Hanamaki the truth until Hanamaki is already dead. In some ways, he finds it easier to be honest with his spectre. There are a lot of things—a lotof things—Issei was never able to tell him when he was alive, when the thought of losing Hanamaki as a result felt like a risk he wasn’t equipped to take.Now, he figures the worst that could happen alreadyhashappened.A vampire and a ghost walk into an apartment. Issei is still waiting for the punchline.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	if love is something you can touch

**Author's Note:**

> **fyi:** this is a ghost au. one of the characters (hanamaki) is dead for the entire duration of the fic, and this isn't/won't be reversed. i don't think this is a particularly sad story despite that, but as a warning, it does touch on themes of death and grief!
> 
> to be fully honest, i don't know what i'm doing. haha. ha.

“Do you have any pets?” the building manager asks, while sifting through a pile of documents. 

“Well,” Issei says, glancing over at Hanamaki, who is currently engaged in trying to make the lights flicker. His hand passes through the switch, and despite being completely aware this would happen, he still looks wounded. “I’m haunted, if that counts.” Hanamaki is sort of like a pet, Issei decides. Like a cat that scratches up your curtains on purpose. 

The building manager pauses and looks up, confusion etched across her features. “Excuse me?”

“No pets,” Issei confirms, turning his attention back to her with a lazy smile that urges her to move past it. “Animals tend to be scared of me.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Her smile is friendly, almost inviting. Past strictly professional, certainly, and he can sense it would take no effort at all on his part to get her number—and more, if he wanted it. In another life, he would’ve taken it. In another life, the tips of his fangs would’ve already been pricking his lower lip in anticipation of the hunt. He blinks once, hard, and runs his tongue over his dull teeth. 

_Maybe because I’m a bloodsucking monster._ Animals have a sixth sense for this sort of thing. Iwaizumi’s dog has been terrified of him ever since the day they first crossed paths. “Raw animal magnetism isn’t my strong suit.” 

Her laughter cuts off at the sound of her phone buzzing. “I’ll just be a moment,” she says apologetically, stepping outside to take the call. The door clicks shut behind her a split second before Hanamaki finally succeeds in turning the lights off, plunging the room in darkness.

Issei doesn’t bother turning them back on; he sees better in the dark, while Hanamaki… Honestly, he doesn’t know what his vision is like. Death feels like it should make everything cloudy, but maybe everything’s sharper. He’s never thought to ask. Never really been sure if he wants to know. 

Hanamaki glides over, eyebrow quirked, and glances at the door. His outline seems to glow in the dark, still pulsating with whatever vitality his soul’s managed to cling onto—thought it’s rapidly fading. “I’m occupied for two minutes and you charm the building manager behind my back? Smooth, Matsukawa.”

 _It’s a vampire thing_ , he wants to say, with a flash of his teeth. Raw animal magnetism—though he can’t say he’s proud of it. “So what do you think of the apartment?” Issei asks instead, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What do I think?” Hanamaki repeats slowly, stroking his chin. “It’s nice. Has a killer view of the sunrise with those floor-to-ceiling windows—not that you can enjoy it.“

“I can enjoy the night view,” Issei counters, gesturing to the inky skyline outside. 

“I never got how that works.” Hanamaki drifts close enough that his shoulders would’ve been pressed against Issei’s were he alive—but instead of Hanamki’s familiar bulk, there is only air, and a slight chill. “The ‘can’t go out in the sun’ thing. I feel like we’ve had a date in the park before. You know, with the cherry blossoms.”

“I wore special sunscreen that day,” Issei says dryly. The only time he’d willingly dealt with a witch was to make sure he’d be able to attend Oikawa’s ‘flower viewing’ party, which ended up being less about the flowers and more about getting drunk. But Hanamaki had asked him to come, and so Issei was determined to be there. “The stuff’s expensive, though.” 

“Hm.” Hanamaki frowns. “Don’t you have infinite money?”

“No?” Issei says incredulously. “I’m _old_ , not a millionaire.”

Unimpressed, Hanamaki stares out the window, silent. The view _is_ killer, even at night. Issei can even see the stars from here, or maybe that much is just wishful thinking. Glancing at Hanamaki out of the corner of his eye, Issei is not surprised to be able to look right through him. His form usually ebbs and dims when he’s not paying attention, like he’s threatening to fade out of existence. 

“It’s nice,” Hanamaki says again. “Too nice to be wasted on you alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Issei says, looking pointedly at Hanamaki, who lets out a wry little laugh and doesn’t challenge him. “I think I’ll take it.” 

“Cool.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, Hanamaki floats to the kitchen. “Think I can figure out how to open the cupboards before your building manager comes back?”

Issei flicks the lights back on. The artificial glare hurts his eyes. Meanwhile, Hanamaki looks—distant, faint, washed out like this. _Dead_ , his mind supplies, but then again, they both are. “Knock yourself out.”

* * *

Eternal life, in some ways, is mundane. 

Issei works the night shift at the hospital morgue, a job that is less exciting and more mind-numbingly boring than you might expect. Thematically appropriate, though. But it gives him access to Dr. Shirabu, or more importantly, the donated blood Shirabu is willing to pass on to him. The good doctor knows more about Issei than he likes, but he blames Shirabu’s vampire boyfriend for that rather than any carelessness on his part. 

Beyond that, he’s ordinary. He hangs out with friends, watches a lot of television, attends the occasional V.League game when Iwaizumi passes on free tickets, and sometimes hunts down feral vampires at the behest of his sire. _Normal_ stuff.

Friendship is tricky as a vampire. Some things about his unusual circumstances Issei can explain if he tries hard enough, like his strange dietary restrictions, his delicate constitution, sensitive skin, and nocturnal schedule that really only allows him to meet at night (or the early hours of the morning). Other things he can’t come up with excuses for, and keeps his distance because of them—slight enough that people generally don’t notice, but it’s there.

He doesn’t tell Hanamaki the truth until Hanamaki is already dead. In some ways, he finds it easier to be honest with his spectre. There are a lot of things— _a lot_ of things—Issei was never able to tell him when he was alive, when the thought of losing Hanamaki as a result felt like a risk he wasn’t equipped to take. 

Now, he figures the worst that could happen already _has_ happened. There’s nothing left to preserve, just a pile of regrets Issei doesn’t want to add to. Hanamaki’s astute; sooner or later, he’ll discover the truth for himself. Ghosts are drawn to humans with vitality; vampires, in comparison, are empty vessels. 

Hanamaki looks startled for a few seconds, then seems to take the news in stride. “I always knew there was something strange about you.”

“Yeah?”

“You literally never let me order garlic knots with my pizza,” he says accusingly, pointing a finger at Issei.

Issei blinks, then lets out a low chuckle. _Garlic knots_. He drags a hand down in his face in disbelief. “You know vampires have no problem with garlic? At all? I just didn’t want to open myself up to a night of knotting jokes.” 

Hanamaki lowers his hand. “Oh.” He’s contemplative for a moment. “Is the vampire thing the reason you can see me?” When Issei looks at him questioningly, he shrugs. “No one else could. Not even my parents.” 

Beneath his calm veneer is a grim sort of resignation. It’s never simple or uncomplicated to come to terms with your own death. Hanamaki seems to be doing a decent job of it—but it must chafe to have to accept the fact that in the eyes of the world, you’re gone. 

“Yeah, since we’re both technically undead.” Different categories, incorporeal and corporeal, but the same thing, ultimately. “Twins?”

Hanamaki fakes outrage. “How dare you. I’m _clearly_ better looking.”

“With that haircut? Self-confidence is hell of a drug.”

Despite Issei’s nonchalance, there’s a part of him that still fears Hanamaki’s disgust and rejection. _I drink blood to stay alive(?)-ish_ doesn’t typically endear you to people. If Hanamaki called him a monster, he’d understand. 

But all Hanamaki does after a moment is run a hand through his hair and sigh, shoulders drooping. “Sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me.” His voice echoes in the cold, sterile hospital morgue and Issei wants to say something so incredibly stupid at the moment like _hey, did you know this is the first time you’ve ever come to visit me at work?_ to keep the sob from bubbling out of his mouth. 

He doesn’t, just lets out a short laugh and looks away. “You don’t have to be supportive—it’s not like I’m coming out to you. I’m just telling you that I’m an undead creature of the night.” 

“Vampires can be gay too, Matsukawa.” Hanamaki’s smile is flippant, but his eyes are sincere. “I would’ve understood, though.”

Maybe he would have. It’s been a while since Issei had friends, especially ones like Hanamaki, where things between them fell into place so easily he could’ve sworn Hanamaki has always been a part of his life. “Yeah,” he exhales. “My bad.”

“I guess we’re stuck with each other for eternity now. Or however long my tenure as a ghost is supposed to last.” Hanamaki hovers a few inches off the ground and looks down with a rueful smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I have you.”

His heart stopped beating centuries ago; this _thing_ in his chest is nothing but stone. Still, faced with Hanamaki’s gratitude and sheer fucking _relief_ at being able to anchor himself to someone, Issei’s long-dead heart clenches and unclenches slowly. 

* * *

“I still don’t understand why you never bit me,” Hanamaki says. 

For better or for worse, Issei is honest with Hanamaki now. It’s been months since Issei revealed his vampiric nature to a befuddled and recently deceased Hanamaki, and weeks since they moved into the apartment with huge windows and thick curtains and a sunrise Issei has never seen, but Hanamaki watches every morning. 

But _honesty_ opens you up to talking about things you really don’t want to discuss. He’s surprised this didn’t happen sooner. He’d admitted once that there was enough time between Hanamaki’s accident and his untimely demise that Issei _could_ have turned him if he’d chosen to. He stood with Hanamaki’s parents outside of his hospital room and listened to him take his last, faltering breaths, and felt that his decision to let him die as a human was something he could live with.

Hanamaki couldn’t consent to becoming a vampire at the time—not in a meaningful way, anyway. Issei wasn’t going to unilaterally condemn him to the same fate he suffered 240 years ago. 

“I just thought it would be kind of gay,” he says after a laden pause, his voice deliberately casual. 

Hanamaki is seated at the table, his chin resting on his hand. He’s better about connecting with surfaces now. No hovering, no inches between him and whatever he’s trying to touch. Learned behaviours, like the rise and fall of Issei’s chest, or his slow, methodical blinks. They’re both facsimiles of living beings—some more obviously fake than others. 

“It’s not gay to suck off your best friend,” Hanamaki says with a smirk. 

“I’m your best friend?” Issei puts a hand over his heart. “I’m touched.” 

“Who else would be?” Hanamaki pauses and sinks into deep thought. “I guess Iwaizumi could be my best friend.”

“Imagine saying that when Oikawa exists.”

Hanamaki looks affronted. “Every interaction Iwaizumi and I had demonstrated our deep platonic bond and was fraught with homoerotic subtext.”

“Again,” Issei deadpans. “Imagine saying that when _Oikawa_ exists.”

“I miss Oikawa,” Hanamaki says suddenly. His light-hearted tone doesn’t change, but the muscles in his jaw twitch as he studies the wall behind Issei. “Maybe I’ll pop by and haunt him for a bit.”

Issei raises an eyebrow. “You’re just going to end up giving him an excuse to cling to Iwaizumi, you know.”

Hanamaki doesn’t laugh. Issei’s expression grows solemn the longer the silence stretches on. Of course he knows Hanamaki misses their friends. How could he not? Issei doesn’t think of himself as particularly engaging company; it never bothered Hanamaki before, but maybe the afterlife has a way of shifting one’s perspective. 

“I’m sorry about not turning you,” he says eventually, in an attempt to fill the silence. “I didn’t think I had the right to do that. It’s not like a gym membership; you can’t back out if it’s not for you. But then again, I didn’t think you’d end up sticking around either.” 

Issei never wanted to doom Hanamaki to an eternity of bloodlust and darkness. Moot point now—for better or worse, this is _an_ eternity anyway—but at the time he’d held onto some vague principles like, _isn’t it better to have a graceful, natural death than be forced to linger?_

He thought he’d mourn Hanamaki for a couple of decades, maybe longer. Grief doesn’t come with an end date, especially when the person you’re grieving meant something more than just… well, _more_. 

Issei never admitted it to Hanamaki—or himself, for that matter. It’s always been dangerous to get attached to a human; the temptation is too great, the power dynamics too skewed. 

But Hanamaki made him feel like he was capable of falling in love and not fucking it up. Biting him would’ve fucked it up big time, so he didn’t, content instead to live with his memories and the dull ache in his chest. He’s no stranger to loss, after all. 

And then Hanamaki’s ghost was there in front of him, searching for answers, and Issei found himself spilling the truth about everything. He figured it couldn’t hurt anymore. 

Except he wonders now if it did, a little—at least for Hanamaki to know that Issei could’ve saved him, but chose not to. 

“I get that.” Hanamaki doesn’t sound angry. He stretches his arms out in front of him and reclines in his chair, his eyes unreadable. “It’s not like you could’ve predicted this.”

Something compels him to ask, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer. “Did you want to become a vampire?” If his lungs had not atrophied years ago, maybe Issei would’ve held his breath in anticipation. 

“I don’t know.” Hanamaki folds his arms over his chest and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. The hum of a heater neither of them needs fills the room. “I think,” Hanamaki says finally, matter-of-factly, “I just didn’t want to die.” His expressions turns wry. “There’s a joke in here, I guess.”

Maybe there is. “I’m not laughing.”

“Yeah,” Hanamaki sighs tiredly. “Me neither.”

* * *

Three months into Issei’s lease and Hanamaki is still around. Neither of them are sure of what to make of it. Determining the average shelf life of a ghost is beyond Issei’s scope of knowledge, and Hanamaki doesn’t seem to want to question it too deeply. As long as he’s tarrying here, he’s alive, or something close to it. 

Maybe that’s all there is to it. 

On a brighter note, Hanamaki’s growing more accustomed to his state. He can control the lights in the apartment now, and sometimes push things off the table. It’s literally no different than having a cat, Issei reflects. 

He wonders if Hanamaki is bored. Didn’t realize ghosts _could_ be, but the passage of time is strange when you’re dead. He supposes there isn’t much to do when you don’t need to sleep or eat. Figuring out how to influence technology like the television or Issei’s laptop isn’t a skill Hanamaki has mastered yet either. 

Out of pity, he sometimes leaves the television on for Hanamaki, only to hear him grouse about Issei’s shit taste later and lament his inability to change the channel. 

“Humans take opposable thumbs for granted,” Hanamaki says, staring forlornly at the remote. The television screen is stuck on the Netflix selection menu, and despite his efforts to navigate over to some crappy reboot of a crappier horror movie, it remains unchanging.

“You didn’t lose your thumbs,” Issei says, while drinking what Hanamaki refers to as one of his ‘Caprisun-esque blood bags.’

“What good are they to me if I can’t use them to browse Netflix?” He falls back onto the couch soundlessly and almost sinks right through it. “I’m _bored_ , Matsukawa,” he continues. Only Hanamaki’s head is visible, resting on top of the cushions like an unwelcome surprise. 

“You could talk to other ghosts? Make friends?” He knows Hanamaki leaves the apartment often during the daytime. Issei’s less inclined to ask what he does when he’s gone—ghosthood is personal, and something in Hanamaki’s face tells Issei the place he visits most often is his parents’ home. He doesn't want to probe further and force Hanamaki to talk about things he'd rather not dwell on.

It’s enough that he chooses to come back in time for Issei to wake up with the sunset. 

“I’ve met some, but I’m not a fan.” Hanamaki floats up and sits on the couch properly with a mixed expression. “Most of them have been here so long they’ve forgotten who they are. The newer ones don’t even know they’re dead.” Hanamaki’s never been impassioned, but he sounds irked now, a faint frown crossing over his face. “I don’t get it. You can’t mistake death for life. It’s—“ He pauses, and adds, almost disbelievingly, “I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive.”

Issei can’t remember what it’s like either. Decades ago, when he used to feed from people, he could pretend the beating of his victim’s hearts was his own, could pretend he still knew what it meant to be anything other than an animated corpse. Sparks of life are few and far in between now. “Yeah, that happens. Once you forget, it’s not something you can relearn either.”

“Sucks, right?” He breaks off and musses up his hair. “The ghosts in the middle just want to pass on. Maybe they believe in a better afterlife. Can’t say I relate, but they just… take care of their business and move on.”

 _Do you want to move on?_ Issei thinks to ask. There’s a palpable frustration in Hanamaki’s voice, a restlessness that makes Issei wonder if he, too, wants to take care of his unfinished business and move on. If that’s the case, he should help. He wants to help, but can’t force the suggestion out of his mouth. 

“What if I move on?” Hanamaki asks suddenly, appearing in front of Issei in the kitchen. His footfalls make no sound; it’s almost as if he manifests out of thin air. “Pass into whatever afterlife is out there—if there is one. I’m skeptical.”

Issei crumples his empty bag of blood in his hand. His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth, his fangs throbbing with the desire to pierce skin. “I want you to be able to rest,” he says clumsily. But he means it; he wants Hanamaki to be at peace. 

Hanamaki casts him a sidelong glance. “What if _I_ want you to want me to stay?” There’s no deception in his eyes or voice, just calm, searching sort of expression on his face, and Issei isn’t sure how to take it. 

“Stay,” he says finally. 

“Say it with feeling this time.”

“Stay,” Issei repeats, setting the crumpled bag down on the counter. Then, the corners of his mouth curving, he says, “With feeling.”

“Ass.” Hanamaki makes a half-hearted attempt to punch his shoulder, but his fist doesn’t connect. “Wish I could hit you. Just a light tap,” he adds, when Issei raises an eyebrow. “A love tap.”

Issei chuckles and moves out of reach, but the laughter quickly dies in his throat. He can’t ask something like that of Hanamaki, even if Hanamaki is offering, in his own words. Part of Issei rails against the idea of losing him—it should be a simple thing to prepare himself to mourn Hanamaki again, but he’s grown too used to his presence, faint and immaterial as it is. Issei is so tired of goodbyes. He’s tired of being alone.

But to be a vampire is to _be_ alone. He’s not selfish enough to demand Hanamaki keep him company throughout the ages. What could he even say? _Stay because I don’t want to have to remember what it’s like to live without you?_

“If I start feeling, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” Issei says off-handedly, sweeping his waste into the garbage bin. 

Hanamaki’s eyes are a little soft, a little exasperated as Issei straightens up and looks back at him. “Who says you have to stop?” It’s almost a, _don’t be stupid, Matsukawa. Don’t be scared of your own feelings, Matsukawa. Don’t stop yourself from being in love with me, Matsukawa._

If only it were that easy. “You’re dead, Takahiro.” It’s not the first time he’s called Hanamaki by name, but it is the first time since his death and it sits awkwardly between them, a reminder of their former closeness and current distance. “And hell, so am I, but I can never cross over to where you are, and you’re not really here where I am. We don’t exist in the same space, the same _plane_.” 

He can’t reach out and touch Hanamaki by accident and catch the knowing smile on Hanamaki’s face out of the corner of his eye, because they both know Issei is too deliberate to do anything by accident. “I have to stop feeling, because someday, you—“ He breaks off with a heavy sigh. 

Hanamaki doesn’t say anything. Humans act like ghosts look terrifying in the nighttime, but Hanamaki looks sort of pretty in the moonlight filtering through the window. 

“What are we doing?” Issei asks dully, sinking into a nearby chair. Hanamaki stands over him, his hands shoved in his pockets. His outline wavers, his form almost translucent enough for Matsukawa to stare through. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

“This can’t really last forever.”

“Probably not,” Hanamaki agrees. He seems to be waiting for something, but Issei has nothing to give. No reassurances, no promises, no solutions. He can’t change the fact that Hanamaki is dead, or that Issei is sort of dead, or that—despite all attempts to convince himself otherwise—he’s in love with Hanamaki and is fairly sure Hanamaki loves him as well. 

There’s a joke here too. Issei doesn’t want to hear the punchline. 

A long moment passes before Hanamaki sits down beside him. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks eventually, and Issei thinks about how some ghosts are ghosts, and some ghosts are people who haven’t been able to _let go._

When did he become unable to let go?

“No. _Stay_.” Issei says, with feeling, and Hanamaki smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

* * *

He wakes up the next night and stares up at the ceiling for a whole half an hour, thinking about nothing in particular, before climbing out of bed and shuffling towards the kitchen. Hanamaki is nowhere to be found inside the apartment, but Issei catches a glimpse of him out in the balcony while heating up his bag of blood and joins him once he’s done with his meal.

“What are you doing out here?” Issei asks, leaning against the railing. “Needed some fresh air? I mean, spiritually?” 

“Thinking,” Hanamaki answers shortly, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “About you. The universe. My own mortality. Pizza bagels.”

“Pizza bagels?”

“Yeah. I want one.” 

“Wonder what it tastes like.” When Hanamaki looks at him in shock, Issei shrugs. “They didn’t really have pizza bagels back when I was alive.” 

“Your undead life’s been a tragedy, huh.” Hanamaki falls silent for a moment before continuing nonchalantly. “You know, being in love with you was such a chore.” 

“Sorry,” Issei says automatically, then stops and lets the words sink in. “What?” 

“Being in love with you,” Hanamaki repeats, with a twist of his mouth. “I could never tell where I stood. Even when I thought you might like me back, you just… never _did_ anything. I used to think, oh man, Matsukawa is so sick—literally—that maybe love isn’t high on his list of priorities. Iwaizumi would always tell me to be patient; I guess I took that to heart and died without saying anything at all.” 

Issei tips his head back and exhales. “I don’t think you were that subtle about it.” It makes a certain kind of sense in retrospect, anyway.

“Then why do you sound so surprised?”

He looks back at Hanamaki and grins. “I felt like you were hoping for a sufficiently dramatic reaction. Thought I’d play along.” His smile fades. “It’s not like being in love with you was any easier. You have a very distracting neck.” 

“Wow. Kind of kinky.” Hanamaki considers it. “I could be into that.” 

He expected that putting their feelings out there in the open would feel worse, but Issei finds that the knot in his chest isn’t as tight as it was the day before. The whole situation still feels like a game with only losers and no winners.

Hanamaki is dead. That won’t change. Issei is undead, and that won’t change either. Someday, Hanamaki will pass on, while Issei will remain—and _yeah_ , he can see the humor in it now. Laugh, even, at the way they’ve managed to screw themselves over in a uniquely fucked up way.

He doesn’t know where to go from here, or if there’s even somewhere to go. But maybe it’s stupid to deny themselves whatever this is—or could be. Maybe this is a redo, a second chance of sorts. A cursed second chance, but one nonetheless. 

Nothing in the world is guaranteed, and sure, someday Hanamaki will deal with his unfinished business, but until then, he’s here and Issei’s lost one chance already. He won’t lose another because he’s scared of another difficult goodbye. 

“We’d make a great anime,” Issei says. “Can you imagine? The shenanigans. The _longing_.” 

“Oh yeah,” Hanamaki agrees easily. “We’d be super popular. I hope Iwaizumi and I end up being the top ship in the fandom.”

Issei holds back a laugh. “That leaves me with Oikawa. I guess his neck isn't bad either.” 

“Mine’s better.”

“I don’t know about that. Oikawa’s pretty, you know?” Issei says seriously. 

Hanamaki’s shoulders shake. “Issei, are you implying I’m not pretty?” 

“Pretty? Yeah. _Prettier_ than Oikawa? Hmmm.”

“You’ll pay for that,” Hanamaki threatens good-naturedly. 

It’s chilly out here, Issei notes idly, though he’s not sure if it’s the weather or a product of Hanamaki hovering too close. He prefers warmth, but the cold doesn’t really bother him. It brings back memories of holding Hanamaki’s hand with a heat pack pressed between their palms, and almost absentmindedly rests a hand on the railing, palm up. 

Hanamaki glances down and covers it with his own. Issei can see it, but he can’t feel Hanamaki’s touch, not his warmth nor the calluses on his palms. Hanamaki smiles at him and shrugs in _a what can you do_ way.

“So this is annoying,” Hanamaki says lightly. “I knew it was annoying before, but this is _especially_ annoying right now, when I’m thinking about kissing you.” 

“You could try anyway?” Issei says hopefully. 

Hanamaki drifts closer, closer, closer until their mouths are only separated by a hair’s breadth. But nothing magical happens—he doesn’t feel the press of Hanamaki’s mouth against his, just an icy sensation on his lips that lingers even when Hanamaki pulls back, disappointment alighting his eyes. “That was anticlimactic,” he says.

“I’m cold,” Issei says, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. He never expected it to amount to anything, but it’s not the worst kiss he’s ever had over the course of 240 years.

“You’ve always been cold,” Hanamki remarks blithely. 

“Thanks,” he says dryly. It’s true, but alright. 

Hanamaki grins. “I’m cold too—and six feet under.”

“I’m fairly sure you were cremated.” He’s also fairly sure he’s the one who helped load Hanamaki’s body into the crematorium’s transport vehicle. His hands were shaking the entire time; it’s not a memory he cares to revisit.

“Ugh.” Hanamaki pulls a face and drags a hand down his face. “Bleak.” He stays like that for a moment, then lets his arm fall to his sides. “I can’t predict the future—hell, if I could, I wouldn’t be worm food—”

“I just said you were cremated,” Issei points out. 

“ _The point is_ ,” Hanamaki continues loudly, as if never heard Issei’s interjection. “No one knows what the future holds and I can’t promise you eternity, but I know I’m going to be here for a while.” He catches Issei’s eye and winks. “I have unfinished business.”

He was under the impression that Hanamaki didn’t know why he’d become a ghost. His eyebrows draw together. “Like what?”

“You,” Hanamaki says simply. His eyes glimmer in the moonlight, like twin stars on his face. “I think that warrants me sticking around for a bit. You’d be lonely without me.” 

The lump in Issei’s throat grows. “Aren’t you tired?” he croaks out. Most ghosts have this persistent weariness to them, frayed edges in the process of unravelling. He doesn’t want that for Hanamaki, doesn’t want Hanamaki to feel stretched past his time.

But he doesn’t see any of that in Hanamaki now; in fact, he seems to glow from the inside out. The rosiness in his cheeks make him look alive, or maybe it’s simply wistful thinking on his part, but— 

Hanamaki smiles. “Of this? Of you?” He cups Issei’s cheek, and if Issei closes his eyes, he can convince himself that he can feel his touch. “ _Never_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> once again, spiritually i am [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMM_EqZUTH4). i wanted to write a fun halloween story... this is not fun or really in the spirit of halloween but? i tried? also thank you to hannah who indulged some of my ghost/vampire ramblings even though this is like, the most unfunny version of the concept ever. i don't know what happened!!
> 
> anyway. hanamaki eventually figures out how to make himself corporeal for a few minutes and the first thing he says to matsukawa is, "hey, want me to give you a handjob?" and matsukawa is literally [this](https://i.imgflip.com/3hqhd7.png) meme.
> 
> thank you for reading, and find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/bokuto_mp4) or hmu on [cc](https://curiouscat.me/omoiyaris) if you're so inclined!


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